


Baby Penguin

by notenoughtogivebread



Series: Klaine Advent 2013 [14]
Category: Glee
Genre: Other, Season/Series 02, Sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-04-09 23:10:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4367885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notenoughtogivebread/pseuds/notenoughtogivebread
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Klaine Advent 2013. Kurt wonders if anyone (ok, mostly Blaine) will find him sexy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby Penguin

He needed Blaine out of his house, needed to lick his wounds for a while. It was easy for Blaine; everyone wanted him. Look at all those girls trying to slip him phone numbers. What did he know about that sick, sinking feeling, your palms actually WET as you contemplated what it would feel like to just reach out and touch, to ask for what you really needed, even longed for?

Blaine didn’t need to do that; people handed their hearts—and their bodies—to him, Kurt was sure of it. Beautiful, suave, handsome, secure Blaine!

Kurt thought of those movies, of Blaine watching them. He tried to imagine watching them himself as though it were no big deal; he thinks of the performers, of Jake Bass’s compact, lithe body, and then—ugh, just too much. Too much sweat, tongues, dicks, hands. Too much pushing, pulling—just too, too much. His mind recoiled from the images.

But, God, did it make him a child that he couldn’t see himself in those movies? That he wanted romance, hearts and flowers and beautiful songs? Did it mean that that’s all Blaine could see when he looked at him—an immature little boy?

He leaned against the door after it closed behind Blaine, and just breathed deep to keep the tears from falling. Then he walked slowly over to his mother’s vanity, slumped into the chair, and stared at his own child’s face.  
He was so fair; there was no scruff darkening his cheeks like Blaine had on late night study sessions. It had been a revelation to him that he was actually OLDER than Blaine, because he felt so young, so unformed.

Blaine was done growing, you could tell. His neat, small body was a man’s body, a welterweight’s. His biceps, glimpsed last week as Kurt passed through the weight room after gym class and saw him at the speed bag, were the stuff of Kurt’s fantasies. He, on the other hand, was still growing into his body. He was feeling stretched, not quite at home in his long limbs. Carole called it his “coltish phase,” in a way that indicated that was a good thing, but, ugh, he wasn’t sure…

He heard his phone buzz on his bed, and gave up his pointless contemplation to read the text from Blaine. “I think I screwed up. Coffee 7 am?”

Kurt sighed. Would 12 hours be long enough to recover from the humiliation? Still, he knew he was as bad as the girls from Crawford Country Day; Blaine’s easy smile and warm eyes, his lovely musician’s hands—Kurt just couldn’t resist the pull of attraction.

He typed a quick “Maybe. See you then.” into his phone, then went to his closet to change out of his uniform and into soft lounging pants. He slipped down the steps then with his history textbook and his binder of APUS notes. He settled in front of the TV with a bowl of pretzels and a tall glass of root beer, arranged his notes on the ottoman, then looked through his DVDs. He considered Funny Face and Roman Holiday, lingered for awhile looking at the cover of Singin’ in the Rain, then decided to leave Old Hollywood—the touch of the fingertips and boys who reminded him of Cary Grant and Gene Kelly—for another day. He popped Torch Song Trilogy into the DVD player instead, sat back, and pressed play.


End file.
